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the beautiful lass at Duncan’s side. She withdrew her hand from Duncan’s grasp and reached for Ewan who wrapped a possessive arm around her shoulder.
    “This, Duncan, is Brenna. My wife.”
    The pit of his stomach had seized. Ewan’s words echoed over and over again in his mind, but he refused to accept the truth. The creature at his side could not belong to Ewan. He had forgotten everything other than his longing for the lass; until he recognized Ewan’s expectant gaze.
    He remembered swallowing the tightness that had gathered in his throat. As jealous and covetous thoughts took root in his heart, fear had entered his soul. He was a man of honor, and Ewan was his best friend. He had no business wanting Ewan’s wife, and he would do what he had to in order to ensure his attraction to Brenna never surfaced again. Stealing his shoulders, Duncan had forced his lips into a smile and congratulated Ewan with a slap on his back, but he said nothing to Brenna. He had not the will to look at her, and he never looked at her again—except from afar.
    He reined in his horse as he neared the edge of the cliffs that fell straight to the rocky coast below. Waves churned and rolled toward shore. The arrival of each swell was marked by the constant timbre of water thrown against rock. Such was the sound of his continued suffering over the years, but he had not been noble enough to bear the pain alone. At times, he had even shown her more than just indifference; he had been downright cruel. His wasted heart blamed her for his betrayal of Ewan even though in his mind he recognized her innocence.
    God above, he was the worst sort of man. What kind of man coveted his best friend’s wife, resenting their happiness? He growled and clenched his fists. Worst was the man who denied his best friend’s widow comfort.
    He pictured her soulful, blue eyes, searching his for consolation, but despite how much he wanted to be of aid to her, his secret affection must not be revealed. To do so would shame Ewan’s sleep. He would shame himself, and worst yet, he would shame her.
    He was damned.
    He kicked his horse in the flanks and galloped over the moors, which blazed past his eyes in flashes of sparse springtime greenery and hard, jutting stones. Hooves beat the ground, scattering tufts of earth as he raced faster and faster, but despite how swiftly he rode, he could not outrun his desire or his obligation to face her again.
    His earlier retreat may have saved him from confessing his secret adoration, but he left with unsettled business. For a moment, he wondered whether it might be best to send Cormac or Jamie in his stead, but the unpleasant nature of what must be done needed to befall his shoulders alone. She already despised him. What did it matter if he upset her further?
    He turned his horse around and headed back toward the outskirts of Gribun where, in the loveliest croft on Mull, Brenna lived…although he hoped not for long.
    Given how well their first meeting went, he did not look forward to his return visit, but she could not stay in her home. It was too isolated. More than ever she needed the protection of the village. He doubted she would readily agree to leave the home she had known with Ewan, but she was a reasonable woman known for her practicality. No doubt she already considered the danger of living in solitude without the protection of a man.
    ***
    Brenna quirked an eyebrow at Duncan. “When I observed your approach just now I admit a jest was the not what I expected to hear.” Her attention returned to the cabbage she chopped. “I can’t decide whether this is an improvement to your usual coldness. Not that humor is a stranger to you, for I’ve seen you joke with others. I appear to be the one exception in that regard.”
    “I’ve never been more serious, Brenna. You cannot stay here alone with Nellore.”
    “Your concern is ill-advised and no doubt insincere, Duncan. I’ve been alone these past months while Ewan was